


A Thistle Cannot Grow

by fiveby10eighty3



Category: A Little Princess, The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
Genre: F/F, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-26 10:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7571293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveby10eighty3/pseuds/fiveby10eighty3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel of sorts to The Secret Garden--with a few of the characters from A Little Princess thrown in.</p><p>Colin and Mary returned from university before the outbreak of the Great War. Mary wants to have a purpose in life--Colin is satisfied to work with his father in matters concerning Misselthwaite. However, war breaks out, and it's every man for himself! Dickon and Colin go off to fight and Mary's future isn't as rosy without Colin after all. Could she tell him how she feels about him before it's too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back to Misselthwaite

_Chapter 1_

_Back to Misselthwaite_

_Thwaite Train Station_

_1914_

 

Everyone thought that Archibald, Lord Craven was mad as a March hare when he allowed his niece Mary Lennox to go to university with her cousin Colin. But the two always have been together, and they spent time that wasn’t used for studying or socialising with the people from the people they met in Oxford with their friend Dickon, who recently completed his education in the Royal Agricultural College.

In gratitude for his contribution towards his son’s ascent to good health, Archibald had taken an interest in young Dickon Sowerby. The lad was bright and quick, with a dab hand at gardening. So after Archibald conferred with a very exultant and grateful Susan Sowerby, Dickon would be going to the local school, then the Royal Agricultural College. All expenses would be paid for by Archibald—asking nothing in return but for the lad to make a good living for himself and help his family.

 

 

Standing next to Archibald was John—who now drove a car—the horses weren’t used so much except for hunts and such. John Petrie was no longer known as John Coachman, but simply John. His Lordship procured two cars, and paid for someone to teach John drive automobiles. Although it took the now former coachman a bit longer to get used to automobiles, he was able to drive without fear of colliding into something. Or someone.

“Oh, here’s th’ train, m’lord. I’ll take care of th’ luggage. Ye excited to see them?” asked the former coachman turned chauffeur.

“Aye, that I am. It’s a graidely day, to be sure,” replied his employer. Archibald became a changed man after he came home to find his son healthy, strong, and standing. He could hardly believe that eleven years have passed since then, when his niece Mary—who he had come to treat like the daughter he never had—came from India—a yellow, sour-looking puss of a girl. But Mary ceased to be that, Archibald. The garden changed Mary’s features—filled her out, brought a rosy glow to her cheeks.

Archibald remembered Ruby Lennox. Her husband Leonard was Lilias’ older brother. Ruby was indeed, but frivolous, shallow and flighty. He thought that her daughter had now surpassed her beauty. Colin once reported to him that Mary had all the Oxford lads chasing her without her knowing it—as she treated her cousin’s friends like brothers. And who wouldn’t chase her? The young woman had hair the colour of dark honey, which fell in a waterfall of curls and waves. Her eyes a peculiar mix of green, grey and blue—depending on the direction of the light, and her skin—a rosy, pearly glow, which was the result of spending her free time in the garden.

* * *

 

 

Archibald remembered Mary protesting about the large brimmed hat that Medlock had given her. Funnily though, the girl had crept her way into the rather irascible housekeeper’s heart, thus softening her. Medlock was concerned that the sun would ruin Miss Mary’s complexion. “And you know, my lord, that she has a very remarkably beautiful complexion. If her mother would be alive, she would be envious.”

“Mary wouldn’t be here if Ruby Lennox survived the cholera,” Archibald remembered replying rather tepidly.

“You’re right,” the housekeeper murmured her assent. “I’ll see about getting her a sun-hat, all the same.”

 

 

When Mary saw the hat, she initially looked at it with distaste. It was a good, simple sturdy hat, but it was not the design that she had found wanting. “I don’t need a hat, Uncle,” she said in confusion.

“Mrs. Medlock says that it would be protection for you when the sun goes too hot in the sky. She doesn’t want you to ruin your complexion.”

“Uncle, you know that I don’t really care for these things.” Mary protested.

“Mary, my dear girl, humour Medlock. After all, she’s got a soft spot in her heart for you, no matter how much she denies it.”

Mary only laughed. But she used the hat, and went to Thwaite to buy some ribbons for the hat to make it look gay. This she used, along with Dr. Craven’s gift to her—a pair of new gardening gloves.

 

Archibald’s reverie was interrupted by a young woman who rushed toward him and gave him the warmest of hugs. “Uncle Archie! It’s _sooooo_ good to be home!”

“Darling girl. You look so well.”

“I _feel_ well. I’ve finished University! Although I’ll miss hurrying and scurrying around libraries. And I’ll miss St. Hilda’s!

 

Colin gently disentangled Mary from his father. “Everything all right, Father?” he asked. Archibald nodded his head heartily. “I’m looking forward to working with you, my dear boy. Are you sure you do not want to work in Lincoln’s Inn? I can put in a good word for you…”

“Absolutely sure, Father. I read Law so I could be of some use to the estate. It’s about time I worked with you.”

“Have you heard about what Mary plans to do after she’s finished university?”

“She says she intends to take some exam. Wants to teach at the village school. Best that you ask her yourself.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dinner time was a rather gay affair. The two cousins chattered about their last days in Oxford, and Archibald nodded as they relayed their adventures.

“…there was a ball a few days ago before we started home, and we didn’t leave until we saw dawn,” was Mary’s excited narration.

“And Mary was the belle of that ball, Father. I can only bet that if I were not at the ball, half the lads in my class at Brasenose would propose marriage to her.”

“Colin!” Mary burst into horrified laughter.

“’Tis true, dear cousin. When you were dancing with Alexander Birtwistle, James Wraysford was looking daggers at him. And Father, when Donald Carmichael was dancing with Mary when the quadrille came, Martin Hillsover looked ready to kill him.”

Mary groaned. “Oh Colin, that’s the most outrageous tale! They’re just good friends—and that’s all they’ll ever be for me, and besides, Martin Hillsover is going to marry Jennie Wilson from Lady Margaret Hall.”

“You’re not serious!” Colin gasped. Mary nodded. “Some woman gave out a tea party, and Jennie was there with the other girls at St. Hilda’s and Lady Margaret Hall. I was there too, so I had the privilege to see the engagement ring for myself.”

“Well I’ll be dashed,” Colin said in astonishment.

“Colin,” his father said mock reprovingly.

“Yes, Father,” Colin grinned sheepishly. So did Mary.

 

Archibald turned to his niece. “So….Mary. What do you intend to once university is over?” Mary smiled eagerly. “Well, Uncle Archie—I intend to ask your permission, but tomorrow, I intend to visit the village school and ask if I can apply for a place there. If I need to take some exam before I can apply, then so be it.”

“Well, that’s a worthy endeavour. As long as you can handle the village children,” Archibald replied encouragingly.

“Thing is…you see, people might talk. You know…what’s a girl living in a large manor doing teaching village children. I do know why I want to teach, but you know…” Mary trailed off.

“I understand, dear girl,” Archibald replied reassuringly. “Let them talk. I’ll deal with them. There’s nothing wrong with a young woman finding her place in the world.”

 

 

Mary went to her own bedroom. It still looked the same, with a few improvements. After all, she was no longer a little girl, but rather a young woman with a future ahead of her.

Well, at least, she hoped so. She didn’t want to get married—at least not yet. Colin had been giving her digs about it all the time. And every time, they had a row about it. Why was he keen to marry her off to anyone he thought suitable?

She rang for Louise to help her get ready for bed. Usually it was Martha, but it was her day off today. Mary sighed. There wasn’t anyone else for her to confide in.

_Tomorrow would have to wait._


	2. The Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary finds a job, and new characters arrive.

Chapter 2

The Calm before the Storm

 

It was days before Mary made her way to the village school. Mr. Villiers, the Head Teacher looked at her dubiously, as she sat before him.

“Miss Lennox, I understand you were at Oxford…read English. But what are your other qualifications? Do you know how to teach a class of unruly students day after day? Students who might not be interested in what you teach?”

Mary found herself temporarily dumbfounded—Mr. Villiers certainly _did not_ mince words. But she recovered her powers of speech. “Indeed I have, sir. On one holiday, I was able to teach in Leeds for the summer term. My friend from university—her father runs a small charity school. I would present references if so needed.”

Villiers meditated on this, “All right then. Do you still have your Matriculation results?” Mary nodded. She was good at keeping important documents—particularly her own, and could produce them when the need for them came.

“Yes sir, I can also present it to you, if need be.” The Head Teacher looked at Mary as though she has sprouted six heads. Then he sighed. “Miss Lennox, you are a niece of Lord Craven, living in a grand house. What are you doing here, applying for a place in a quiet country schoolhouse?”

“Mr. Villiers, I understand how you think my motives for applying for a position here can be dubious. But I can tell you—just from a teaching even only a single term that children are like plants. They grow and bloom when someone actually takes time to really listen to what they need—and want. I’m not saying that your teachers don’t, but it helps that the teacher sees the students as real, actual people, not just living beings just to be supervised on, and rated all the time. My first ten years were spent in India…a little girl who hardly ever saw her parents. My mother didn’t want me—I was too plain for her, you see. So I was trundled away to my rooms, with a set of governesses and Ayahs. My father was too wrapped up in his work in the civil service. Only when my parents died and I was transported to Misselthwaite that my life took a turn for the better. I want to show these children that someone can listen to them, and believes that they can shape their own futures.”

George Villiers was satisfied in the young woman’s appeal. “Very well then, Miss Lennox. Write a letter of intent—to the school board. Give at least two references, your Matriculation Exam results. Shall three weeks be enough for you to prepare before you meet the board for an interview?”

Mary smiled. “Yes, sir.”

“Very good. See you in three weeks.”

* * *

 

Mary waited until she was in the gates of Misselthwaite to whoop and twirl for joy, and minded not the possibility of getting dust in her cherry-red and white linen suit. Mr. Kinsale, the butler opened the door for Mary. “Tea is being served in the library, Miss Mary. Your uncle and young Mr. Craven are already there. You have guests, as well.”

Mary smiled at him. “Thank you, Mr. Kinsale. I’ll run along, just going upstairs to freshen up first.”

“Very good, Miss Mary.”

 

Mary ran upstairs to her rooms. She was fortunate to run into Martha. “Martha, please be a dear and get me a jugful of water. I need to freshen up. Mr. Kinsale says we have visitors.”

Martha nodded, and took the jug from Mary’s wash stand. After a few minutes, she was back, with a washcloth in hand, along with the jug. “Here, Miss Mary.” Mary took it, and with economy of movement, dipped the cloth in the water and scrubbed her face clean.

“Did Mr. Kinsale say who the visitor was?” Martha asked. She and Miss Mary went a long way, and she became Miss Mary’s confidante—and friend.

Mary shook her head. “No idea. I’ve yet to find out who would that be.” Out of nowhere, she blurted out, “Uncle would know better than to spring men that he knew I would dislike on me.”

The maid nodded. “I’m sure he wouldn’t, Miss.” Quickly, deftly, she unpinned Mary’s hair, and brushed it out.  “Do you want me to pin it all up again, Miss Mary?”

“Thank you no, I doubt there’s enough time for that.” Pulling out a red and white striped hair-ribbon from an intricately carved wooden box, she handed it to the maid. “I think that it’s best that you tie my hair back with this ribbon, Martha.” Martha brushed it until it gleamed and tied it with the ribbon Mary handed her.

“There, you look nice and fresh as a daisy, Miss Mary, if I may say so.”

Mary grinned. “All thanks to you of course, dear Martha. Now, I should go down, otherwise, Uncle Archie shall be sending out a search party soon.” The young mistress and maid giggled together, and soon, Mary slipped out of her bedroom. She began to wonder who the visitors were—suddenly she remembered Colin telling Uncle Archie that one of his friends from Harrow (and later, Oxford) would be visiting his relatives in nearby Easingwold and would probably drop by Misselthwaite, as Colin had invited him. Mary didn’t take much heed as the visit was not in the immediate future. Mary went down the stairs, trying very hard not to run, as Mrs. Medlock often despaired her of doing. She learned a trick from Allison Braithwaite, one of the girls who studied Classics in St. Hilda’s—running and tiptoeing at the same time that a girl doing that would like she was floating instead of actually running.

* * *

 

When she was nearing the drawing room, Mary slowed down into a walk; feeling strangely conscious of her attire. Miss Crawford, a governess she and Colin shared before they went to their respective boarding schools often told Mary that she (Mary) looked younger than she actually was. Right now, she wished she had taken the time to have her hair redone—with it tied back, she looked like she was in her first year at St. Hilda’s again. Especially when she glimpsed through the door four finely dressed women—three young women near her age and the two of them bore a degree of resemblance to their male companion, and one older woman who looked like the young women and the young man—their mother, Mary presumed. Walking closer toward them, Mary saw a mysterious-looking, solemn-faced dark haired girl sitting beside one familiar face—Donald Carmichael—who preferred to be called Don or Donny—one of Colin’s closest friends from Harrow, and also at Oxford. Don was Colin’s tutor partner while reading Law at Brasenose College in Oxford; Don’s father was a solicitor, and he wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps. Mr. Carmichael, however, graduated from Cambridge.

 

 Archibald Craven saw Mary peering through the door, smiled and called out to her. “Ah, darling Mary. Do come in. Just in time for tea,” his smile widening, as he knew that tea time was one of Mary’s favourite meals of the day. It was a shared joke between him and his niece—Mary always built up an appetite after tending to the garden in the afternoons, as she and Dickon made short work of pulling up weeds, pruning shrubs whenever old Ben Weatherstaff  was plagued by his rheumatism. Colin sometimes helped, but he now spent more time in the study, or in the Estate Office with him taking care of estate matters. Archibald was proud of the young people—they certainly were far from idle, and he never believed in wasting time. A bit of fun or indulgence was allowed once in a while, for everyone knows what happens to Jack after all work and without play, and it was a philosophy he applied with his son and niece, and their close friend and ally Dickon, who Archibald regarded as a second son.

Mary entered the room, and she was suddenly shy. But she did not want to let Uncle Archie down, so she smiled shyly at them. “Good afternoon,” she said, “My name is Mary Lennox. I hope that you haven’t been waiting too long.” Donald grinned at Mary. They frequently saw each other while they were both at Oxford—they were good friends, and Donald was often Mary’s dancing partner whenever there were balls being held in the university.

“Hey, Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary,” Donald said, with a grin. His mother was appalled. “Oh, Donald. Must you always be the jokester of the family?” but she was smiling. Mary noticed that the Carmichael brood enjoyed a friendly, affectionate—if not totally easy relationship with their mother. The towheaded girl (Mary found out later on that her name was Janet, the eldest of the three Carmichael children, and Donald was the youngest) said, “Oh do pay no attention to my dear younger brother. He can act like such a clown, sometimes.”

“But such a friendly fellow, the life of every gathering,” Colin replied gaily. Donald smiled at his friend’s defence of him. “Ah, yes. I have found my misplaced manners. Mary, Colin, and Lord Craven, may introduce to you my mother Mrs. David Carmichael, my sisters Janet and Nora. Also with us is our family friend and honorary sister, Miss Sara Crewe. It may interest you Mary that Miss Crewe also hailed from India before sailing to England for her education.”

Mary’s hands stilled as she was about to lift the teacup. “Whereabouts in India, Miss Crewe??” It startled her to learn that she and Miss Crewe asked the same question at the same time.

“Bombay,” the dark haired girl said shyly. “And please call me Sara.”

“I was from Bengal,” Mary replied, giving Miss Crewe her cup of tea. “My—my parents died from the cholera epidemic there.”

Mrs. Carmichael looked concerned. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“That was a long time ago. Then…I got sent here. It was the best thing that ever happened in my young life,” Mary replied quietly.

The Carmichael females looked at each other. Donald explained to them, “Mary’s early years there weren’t what you could call idyllic.” Mrs. Carmichael reached over and patted Mary’s hand. Mary found that she liked the feeling. She reminded Mary of Mrs. Sowerby “Then I’m glad that Lord Craven sent for you.”

Uncle Archibald smiled. “She changed our lives for the better—and Colin has found his match.” Colin groaned, and the others laughed. Colin’s occasional imperiousness was legendary, and Mary still sometimes called him Rajah, when she felt like teasing him. Donald, being Colin’s close friend in Harrow and Oxford knew of this.

“How are you enjoying your summer, Mary? We’ve heard from Lord Craven you’ve finished university,” Nora asked eagerly. “Janet, Sara and I have just finished as well—but we’re from Newnham. In Cambridge,” she clarified. “Papa insisted that we go to university too after taking our Matric. Sara here has good reports, which are to be expected. She’s really, really smart.”

Sara blushed, “Oh, Nora, it’s the result of hard work and sleepless nights,” she protested. Janet piped in. “You’re being too modest, Sara. Your horrible headmistress in your school said so. I think she’s nearly fainted when you told her you’re going to pursue higher learning. Mary, Colin says you did well in Oxford. Nothing feels better than young women going to university and excelling. Proves that women can hold their own as well as men.”

 “Janet,” Mrs. Carmichael murmured, her tone teasing and warning at the same time. But again, she was smiling. “I’m not disagreeing with you darling, but I’m afraid our hosts might not agree.”

Uncle Archibald replied, “No, I do agree with Janet. It’s the very same reason why I allowed Mary to go to school and to Oxford. Apart from Colin being unable to countenance growing up without his cousin.”

“But we went to separate schools, it was only in Oxford we saw each other more often,” Mary said, finally handing Colin his cup of tea.

“Your cousin says that you keep a wonderful garden, Miss Lennox.” Sara said a little less shyly. “We would like to see it, if we may.” Mary nodded. “Of course. Please do call me Mary. I’m extending this to you and your daughters, Mrs. Carmichael.”

Mrs. Carmichael glowed with pleasure. “Thank you, Mary. It would be a pleasure if you call me Aunt Clara and my daughters Janet and Nora. Miss Crewe, I’m sure, would prefer to be called Sara.” The girls nodded, smiling. “Pleaaaaseee? Can we see the garden?” Nora pleaded quite excitedly.

“Yes, would you like to go now? Hold on to your hats, it’s quite a windy day today.” Mary said. She had to admit, she was proud of her garden, and she enjoyed working in it.

 

* * *

 “Oh, it’s utterly enchanting!” gasped Mrs. Carmichael when Mary ushered the women into the garden. 

The girls oohed and aahed over the flowers, the archways, and the small pond. Mrs Carmichael admired the roses.

“It’s like being transported to fairyland,” reflected Sara.

“It sure is,” Nora replied with a nod.

Mary gave the younger ladies time to venture further into the garden, while she walked alongside Mrs. Carmichael, or Aunt Clara, as she preferred to be called.

“Tell me about your life in India,” Aunt Clara gently prodded her. “I did hear from Donald earlier that you had a rough time out there.” Mary nodded. “It was lonely. My mother didn’t want to spend time with me, and I scarcely saw my father. I…I was too plain for my mother.”

“It’s very far from the truth, my dear child,” Clara Carmichael disagreed. “You are what my nanny used to say—‘pretty as paint, and bright as a new pin’.”

Mary laughed. “Then I’m glad you didn’t meet me when I was younger. I was a terrible child, to say the least. The servants in my parents’ home, had they lived, would tell you they have cursed me from the moon and back. My former Ayah would be leading the pack.”

“The Yorkshire air has done its magic, I must say. I am a Yorkshire girl myself, but a little further up north in Middlesbrough. It is quite a large town, but not as lovely as Thwaite,” Aunt Clara mused. 

“I’ve never been to Middlesbrough,” Mary admitted. Mrs. Carmichael squeezed her hand. “Well, us girls should make a trip and visit my mother. Her afternoon teas are legendary,” she laughed.

Mary felt a little glow in her heart when the older woman issued her invitation. The idea of including her into that group— _us girls_ —made her happy inside. Glad to belong to people other than her family. “I’d love to go,” she replied shyly. “Summer is still a long while yet, but I am waiting for word from the Misselthwaite school board. I’ve applied for a teaching position.”

“Well, that’s wonderful news, my dear,” Aunt Clara murmured. “We should make the trip before Sara leaves for India. Her late father has business interests there, and so does Sara’s guardian, Mr. Carrisford. Poor Sara pretty much had been knocked about hard too in her childhood.”

Mary’s eyes grew round, and Aunt Clara hastily amended, “Oh no dear, _not_ through Mr. Carrisford. It was a school she had attended. When Sara’s father died in India, it was initially thought that Captain Crewe had lost everything, so he had no assets to speak of and no money for people to take care of Sara. So the headmistress’ made her into a servant. _A servant!_ ”

Mary said nothing. _So it was true,_ she thought. She was studying in Bedales when she heard of the news. A girl who had been previously from Miss Minchin’s Select Seminary For Young Ladies had been pulled out by her anxious parents and had her transferred to Bedales after hearing some hullaballoo that had happened at the Seminary. Laura Hadley told the girls at Bedales everything that had happened. Laura was an older girl, and she had quite a bevy of awed Lower Second girls (which included Mary herself) who listened to the sorry tale.

“That is a very hideous thing for the school to do,” Mary replied, frowning. “How could they do that to an _orphan_?”

“I do _hate_ to gossip, but Maria Minchin is a cold, mercenary sort of woman. If Sara didn’t possess such a forgiving heart, we would have pulled her out from the Seminary.”

 _So it was that bad,_ Mary thought, but did not say. “I’m glad she has her Uncle Tom,” Aunt Clara broke into Mary’s thoughts. “He saved the girl, and Sara was the saving of him. They saved each other.”

 

“I’m glad Sara had him. In the same way I am glad I have been sent here,” Mary replied meditatively.

“Indeed,” murmured Aunt Clara.

 

The Carmichaels and Miss Crewe had been invited to eat dinner with them, which put a smile on Archibald’s face. He had never entertained visitors much, but due to his new lease on life eleven years ago, he welcomed them. It was good to see the young people enjoy themselves, and they were invited to visit Misselthwaite once more, for a hopefully longer stay.

It was a lovely summer evening. Outside, through the windows, the stars twinkled in a cloudless sky, and a fine moon hung out in the inky heavens.

The people at the dinner table laughed, talked, and made plans.

They had no idea that it was the calm before the storm.


End file.
